


Indulgence

by aries_taurus



Series: Indulgence [1]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Bingeing, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Emetophilia, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Masturbation, Purging, disgusting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 17:04:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aries_taurus/pseuds/aries_taurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Control. Pleasure. Release. He's not sure where the line lies but he knows it's wrong.</p><p>*pretty gross and graphic, guys. Sorry!!*</p><p>EDIT: I can't really believe this but... This is turning into a series. This is now part 1</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indulgence

**Author's Note:**

> So. Someone somewhere wanted Steve with bulimia. This in not quite that. 
> 
> I'm sorry. I wrote it. It's... weird.
> 
> There's sexual pleasure derived from a form of self-harm, and obviously, an eating disorder.
> 
> Read at your own risk.
> 
> EDIT: So. Okay. This... is turning into a series. Dunno when the next part will be ready, how many there will be because this is such a delicate subject and I want to to this right. I can tell you the next one will be named Origin and that's what it'll be; the root of this. After that, we'll see.

Udon from Marukame. Malasadas from Leonard’s. Cocoa Puffs from Liela’s. A puka dog. Loco Moco from Rainbow, with scrambled eggs. Shave ice. Not Kamekona’s. He went out of his way for that; the run down, tiny little shop in Manoa valley, right by Lyon arboretum’s parking lot.

It’s melted some but the cooler kept it intact enough.

Still, he doesn’t have a lot of time.

He starts with the puka dog. It’s gone in seconds but he still chews it carefully, almost compulsively. He sips some water every few bites, just a little.

Then, the Loco Moco. Rich, filling, a taste of home.

The udon is next, savory and sweet and salty and enough for two but he consumes its every stand of noddle, warm and comforting.

He sits back and stretches, petting his stomach.

He doesn’t do this. Not much anyway.

Sometimes.

Sometimes, he needs to take it back.

Control.

He needs it.

It makes him feel…

Good. Better.

Aroused.

Cocoa puffs are next, sweet and good and filled with bittersweet memories of childhood.

He eats the malasadas next, as an ending, taking special pleasure in sucking the soft custard out of the pineapple one he chose. He’s close now.

Filled up.

Too much so.

A thrill of anticipation skitters down his spine and into his groin and halfway into hardness.

He takes the melting shave ice with him and goes to the beach, right at the water’s edge. The tide is low and changing soon.

He sucks the melted juice from the bottom first and it’s cloyingly sweet, sticking to the back of his throat.

He scoops some ice into his mouth and swallows, not letting it melt. He does it again and again until his sinuses freeze and pain draws water from his eyes.

He feels the cold lump reach his stomach, feels it quiver in protest, too full, too much, too cold.

He feels his throat spasm and his mouth waters.

He groans, leans forward, elbow on his knees. He sucks more melted juice from the cup and swallows until he just can’t and drops the ice on the sand when his entire body spasms.

His cock twitches and fills with the saliva flooding his mouth and thickening his throat.

He gags, drool and the last mouthful of syrup dripping from his mouth.

He inhales slowly, stuck at the tipping point.

This is what he wants. What he craves. What he needs.

It’s wrong. It’s perverse. But he wants it.

The fingers of his right hand flex on his knee. He doesn’t like using them. Shouldn’t.  Doesn’t want to. It feels even more wrong that way.

He swallows a gulp of air, and another, and another, and another, feeling his overfull stomach bulge and swell.

He contracts his abdomen a little and he burps. He coughs.

He feels it. A gurgle deep inside, his mouth flooding with saliva.

He tenses the muscles again and pushes out another burp and there’s a bit of liquid with that one. He spits it onto the sand.

He waits, his esophagus and stomach burbling as if filled with a million ants, his throat thick and slimy with mucus.

The world fuzzes and tilts as true nausea takes over.

His gut caves in and he closes his eyes, lets it come, welcomes it, mouth open wide.

He vomits a little, the syrup first, as sweet and cloying as it was. He contracts his abdomen and leans further forward, forcing it out of him.

He pushes the rear of his tongue against the back of his soft palate and…

Yes. There.

Vomit showers the sand, yellows and browns, thin mush of childhood sweets. He coughs and vomits again, earnestly.

It feels so good.

He breathes and moans, a hand reaching to rub the erection straining his swim trunks. He pushes them down to free himself and lets his fingers wrap around his length and he moans.

He spits and pants, feeling his innards gurgling and shifting, readying for more.

The next effort draws a groaning grunt deep from his throat as rice and chewed noodles pile on the sand.

Again.

Rice.

Hamburger.

Again.

Eggs.

Sausage.

Bread.

Again.

Pastries.

More noodles.

Everything.

Over and over again.

He forces it out, all of it.

It feels so good, so good.

He decides. He’s in control.

His innards surge and contract and purge and he can’t help the hand rubbing and grasping his shaft, the pleasure building with each spasm until there’s nothing left but the release, the whitish spurts of come falling on top of the mess soaking into the sand.

He collapses in the chair, spent, exhausted, empty.

Satisfied.

Calm.

He closes his eyes and just breathes for a few minutes. He exhales, stands and walks into the warm water, far enough away from the mess slowly being washed away by the incoming tide.

He swims only far enough to soak his head and wash off any traces of his indulgence. He steps out of the water and heads inside for a quick shower and a night of deep, restful sleep.

Morning and its guilt and questions will come soon enough.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me if you hated it, but don't flame me. Tell me it sucked, not that I suck. Tell me you liked it, found it weird.... Beause, I DO NOT KNOW how I wrote this.


End file.
